


Only hymns upon your lips

by Maura_Moo



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Antisemitism, Anxious David Jacobs, Artist Jack Kelly, Author Is Not Religious, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Autistic David Jacobs, Backstory, Bisexual David Jacobs, Bisexual Jack Kelly, Bisexual Male Character, Blood and Injury, Bruises, Child Neglect, Childhood Friends, Colours, Cuts, F/M, Female Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Gay Newsies, Gay Spot Conlon, Good Writing, How Do I Tag, I Made Myself Cry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Italian Racetrack Higgins, Jack Kelly Being an Idiot, Jewish David Jacobs, Late Night Writing, Male-Female Friendship, Mild Smut, Minor Crutchie/Jack Kelly, Minor Jack Kelly/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Minor Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Period Typical Bigotry, Pining David Jacobs, Pirates, Protective Jack Kelly, Racetrack Higgins Has ADHD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religious Guilt, Sad David Jacobs, Scars, Slow Burn, Spot Conlon is Bad at Feelings, Spring Awakening References, To Read, Wounds, mentions of wet dreams, minor cannon relationship, nobody is straight in newsies, not descriptive, oringal character backstory, pining original character, religious trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29141733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maura_Moo/pseuds/Maura_Moo
Summary: Cora has always found a stillness in words. An innocence that floats across sentences and strings together beads of words until they’re the fine jewellery of paragraphs and stories. She had remembered the warmth of fairy stories and the blood pounding rush from adventure books.
Relationships: Cora Armstrong/David Jacobs, David Jacobs & Esther Jacobs, David Jacobs & Jack Kelly, David Jacobs & Les Jacobs, David Jacobs & Original Female Character(s), David Jacobs/Original Female Character(s), Esther Jacobs/Mayer Jacobs, Jack Kelly & Original Character(s), Jacobs family & original female characters
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Only hymns upon your lips

Cora has always found a stillness in words. An innocence that floats across sentences and strings together beads of words until they’re the fine jewellery of paragraphs and stories. She had remembered the warmth of fairy stories and the blood pounding rush from adventure books. 

Even as she stands in the bedroom, fanning her hands down the nightgown her father brought her. She takes gentle notes of her growing body under the light fabric, it makes her stomach roll and a paleness hints at the corners of her lips. 

Her mind wanders, hunting for a small, sleeting light in the well-known darkness. She remembers her and David, running through the streets and climbing on statues. Wooden swords in hand and laughter trailing after them like ribbons from Esther’s sewing box. It floats behind them curling in the wind until it floats away. 

Somewhere in the distant memory; Cora could remember the warmth of David pressed next to her, hair fluffy from a bath and stolen pyjamas soft against her skin. If she let the ghosts of the moonlight dance around her, Cora could hear Dave’s protests about bathing, about finishing the arithmetic worksheet that sits hidden in the bottom of his bookbag, about how “knights didn’t need arithmetic”. She had listened to Sarah talk excitedly about the baby in her mother’s stomach and she had nodded along, settling into the feeling of her hands in her hair. 

The new hands fumbling rudely with the memory dragged and moulded it like wet clay or perfect winter snowfall. They had sat, cuddled up on the couch, while Ether read to them. A perfect happy-ever-after where men went swimming in the sea, hair curling with sea-foam and nameless women diving between warm waves, teasing supernatural men with their mystic wisdom, watching their worlds fall between their fists like angel dust. 

“Time for bed now child.” Her mother poked her head into the room, with a smile void of emotion. “Your father will be up for his goodnight kiss soon. Into bed with you.” Another one of those smiles as her mother focuses right past the shuddering, broken breaths. 

Cora just nods and allows her bare feet to walk the small distance from the window to her parent’s bed. The sheets are soft and the springs ache as they wrap around her thin body. It’s almost like a hug, sure a hug that’s cold and calculated. A hug that wraps its invisible hands around her throat while her father pins her down. 

But a hug nonetheless. A lot better than the floor in the cellar. Better than the cobwebs that itch her face and the rats that scurry close to her feet. 

It's the click of a belt and the stench of alcohol that draws the Jacobs’ back to the forefront of her mind. She lets her mind wander as she plays along to her father’s games. It's a game that she hates playing, it hurts. 

She feels her father hold her. His nails are sharp and they rip at her thighs, it makes her want to scream, to scream until the entire world knows that her father is coming to her, dreaming on her until there’s broken tears dripping into the stained sheets. 

But she never screams, she lies there and breathes letting him believe that she’s playing along, smiling when he picks out her beauty- the curves of her hips, the tenderness of her breasts. 

Her father teaches her how to be right. Right in the eyes of God. 

It hurts only for a little before her body numbs. There are parts of the darkness she knows well, they’re always untouched by the candle-like light of her safe place. Of the men with their distant ships, rocking and swaying over the thick waves. Of the women and their beauty, that teases the shore until the final page. Until the book is closed and her father once again tosses her into the darkness of the cellar. 

The water stings against her bruised thighs as she washes herself down. Alone she lets herself remember David. Not as an innocent child laughing as they run back to his house to play pirates. She can see him as the friend shes grow up alongside. The one that makes her smile when she finds no reason too. The one that never questions the bruises on her legs or the fingerprints that seem to be scalded permanently on her wrists. 

David is her friend, still growing into his thirteen-year-old frame. He falls over his own feet and argues with his parents about how he still wants to play pirates and climb trees, not sit at the dining table screaming out in silent Latin, as he scribbles out Virgil until it's staining his mind like his pen ink. 

In the darkness of her cellar, the nightgown stripped away and tears no longer staining her face. She’d shed the second skin of sin and allow herself to reply to the hymns that would fall off his lips. 

David would keep her safe until she was forced into a pew, pressed between her father and older brother, acting the picture-perfect play of a perfect family. She’d press herself straight against the polished wood and allow the broken hymns to fall from her. 

David would wash into her mind and panic would settle in her bloodstream. It would wash until she was a sweetheart on her knees, sweaty hands pressed together and voice quivering in prayer. “There is love in heaven. All will be forgiven.” She chants it in her mind until it's a funeral song, playing as a low drawl in her mind. 

She chants it as she adorns that nightgown. 

She whispers it as she cries silently for her blue-eyed angel to hear her through the walls. 

She remembers it as she washes away his silver magic.

She tells herself that as she takes the stairs to David’s apartment two at a time, silently letting her feet fall, sore and bare. Letting it be the pulse that leads her into the sunlight that was the apartment overlooking the street. 

She tells herself that as they’re sitting silently on his bedroom floor, three years later. 

She had caught him coming out of the school gate. “David?” it felt like forever since she had seen him, the same childish blue eyes had become hidden and sullen. He had jumped, shoving a collection of papers into his sactual, allowing it to fall in front of him as he turned, once sad eyes softening. 

“Cora? You frightened me.” Despite the joy in his eyes, his tone is sullen- as if one bullet crack could shatter his fragile glass-like appearance. 

She pauses to stare up at him, taking in his stained glass eyes and paper-like smile. “What are ya lookin’ for?” 

His laughter is joyless. “If only I knew.” 

“Then what’s the use of lookin’ ” 

He had slid a cautious hand into hers, smiling as he felt her fingers curl around his with the silent promise that it was just her. 

They had walked in silence, the only sound is the hiss of Cora taking in sharp breaths, the heat burning the soles of her feet. His apartment had been empty when they arrived, bare floorboards still warmed by the sun heat squeaked under the weight of his lumbering feet. 

There was a soft thud as his bag hit the ground of his room and she settles with him on the floor, eyes scanning the open textbooks and neatly written notebooks. Another wave of comfortable silence washes over them as her head rests on his lap, watching how the letters slide through each other. A freehand comes to rub a comforting thumb through the soft golden strands.

“Member when we usedta play pirates?” 

Davey scoffs, eyes darting to the box under his bed. “I’m not allowed to play anymore. Mama says.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” He sighs, kind hands sliding down her side until it rests in the curve of her body. There's a warmth from his fingers, almost like kindness that radiates like a summer breeze from his heart. “Mama says I need to focus on classes because failure means we won't be able to show our face in the synagogue.”

“I miss going with you and ya folks.” She admits, tilting her head more into his lap. If she focuses hard enough she can feel his quickening pulse. 

“I miss you going too.” And with that, the conversation has finished.

“What Dya gotta study? Maybe Ise can help-?” She feels like she's pestering, he barely looks up when she shifts her head off his lap to gaze curiously into his textbooks. The words make little sense and the diagrams vaguely map out her own body. There's a hue of pink darting across his cheeks and his blues eyes fiddle as if fondling distant pearls. 

When Davey doesn't reply, Cora accepts his silent answer and once again settles against the warmth of his body. For a few seconds, she can feel his eyes upon her, curious glances as she shifts. A strangled cough and a shiver leaves his body before- 

“Growing up sucks.”

He slams the textbook closed and tosses his notebook back into his bag, not caring as the pen clatters under his desk. “You read it in textbooks and all you get told is that it's wrong-”

“God says it's sinful David”

“But why Cora? Because...because it makes people feel?” He rubs his eyes. “I just...I just don't understand.” There's a pain in his voice, badly hidden under a slash of anger. “Have you started puberty? My legs hurt and my arms are sore. I've grown a foot in a week and the stubble that curses my face itches and the razors cold in the morning. Everywhere itches and it stings.” 

She sits up and slowly wraps her arms around him, allowing his head to rest against her breast. She feels the tension soak out his taller frame and for a few moments, Cora begs for the panicking to still in her stomach. “M sorry David.” She coos, hand rubbing small circles in his spine. “Would a bath help?” 

“We don't have enough water to heat up. The well is far and my legs hurt.” His eyes have drifted closed, his arms pulling her closer against the curve of his jaw. His hands are gentle as they roam comfortingly, resting in the curve of her spine where they had rested previously. 

So soft, so young. So calm and oh so beautiful hands that press warm prints into the bruised and scarred skin under her winter dress. Thumbs drawing shapes against the rough fabric. They twitch like little birds hungry to be fed. Cora's not sure how long she sits with Davey in her arms, head against her breast and sleep calming his taut muscles. She just knows they flinch away when the door squeaks open. 

“David are you home?” 

“Yes, papa.”

“Good” Mayer peaks his head into the room. “Hello, Cora. It's been a while, my dear.”

“Hello, Mister Jacobs.” She smiles, standing to give the man a respectful bow. It earns them a laugh and she flaps her hands in reply. “Where's Les?”

“His mother has him. Sarah should be home from work soon. Maybe you children could go play before washing up for supper.” 

“I'd like that papa.” David smiles, back straight against his bed frame, legs tucked to his chest as if concealing something. There's a flurry of red against his pale cheeks. It doesn't go when his father leaves the two alone. 

“I could hear your heartbeat.” He tells Cora a few moments later, pushing the door closed. It clicks and David holds his breath, he's not meant to have his door closed when someone is in his room. It's a stupid rule that his father put in place the first...nightmare he had. “I'm sorry I fell asleep on you.”

He listens to Cora laugh, it's a joyful sound that makes blood pool in his stomach. “S’kay Dave.” Her face is pressed against his bedroom window, so close that he can see the glass fogging up. “Looks like it's gonna rain, wes could run through the meadow. Get soaked through t’da skin and not even care.” 

David tries to not think of the way her clothes would cling to the outline of her body. The way her shirt would skin against her curves, how she’d stumble back into the room and strip off her skin and the soft bend of her legs would stay wet and shining in the dim light. A cruel picture of her hand sliding coyly up his thigh, fiddling with his belt, sneaking in curiously darts through his mind and he swallows the groan pooling in his throat. 

“Maybe not. We could get sick. Plus, mama says I can’t play anymore.” He rests his chin in her hair and a whine shivers its way from his throat. He misses being able to play, the sounds of their wooden swords still haunt his dreams, lulling him in and away from his studies. Sometimes he’d stare at the trunk under his bed with a depressingly sad longing, eyes watering and mind rushing with the memories until he turns back to his textbooks. 

There’s not much in the world he doesn’t understand, how the world can exist outside of the walls of New York City and nobody desire to explore it, the reasons why boys and girls are now separated in his classes, but hos own body was one of those things. He’s always so prepared for things, studying past his grades and working on chores before his parents ask but when he bathes the surge of feelings of someone else hands on his skin, the dreams that startle him awake breathing heavy and sticky. It terrifies him. 

It's discussed sometimes in school, but they just tell them to not. That his body and his feelings are just him riddled full of sins, that acting upon any emotions would make his body fall from grace. 

That doing anything would mean he’s the guilty one. 

He’d be tarnished with a brush of guilt that he doesn’t understand. So, he sits and represses the questions that prod at the corners of his brain with the memories of playing pirates and the simplicity of childhood. When everything makes sense and he didn’t sit home alone on school nights, staring at the ceiling, hands trembling over the sheets.

“Why did you?” Her voice cuts like a bullet through his foggy mind. Anxiety suddenly heightens his fatigued senses. Did he open his mouth without noticing? He has a habit of rambling when his thoughts get too much when his mind gets too clogged and he feels like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t force something from his throat. 

He watches her move from the window, perching on the corner of his desk like a greenfinch. “W-why what?” 

“Why’d ya fall asleep on me?” 

“Oh-” he laughs, a little relieved and a little surprised. “I didn’t sleep so well last night. I was up until three in the morning….reading. Until I couldn’t see straight.” he sits next to her, pressed so close together that David could linger on the faint smell of something clinging to her clothes. “And when I finally went to bed I was haunted by the most terrible phantasm-” 

“A what?” 

“A dream”

“Oh...what about-?” 

He thinks back quickly to the nightmare that startled him awake until sunrise. The ghostly shadows of light blue stockings and labia major and- “boys stuff.” 

Cora nods. “Oh, one of those dreams.” Awkwardly she rubs at her shoulder, normally she’d have some kind of reply or a way to help him or something to bring a smile to his worried features. But nothingness falls on her tongue. Her silence doesn’t worry David, it settles the worry in his stomach. He takes a breath before talking again. “I just don’t get how gen-genti- anatomies….go together y'know.” 

“Measure up? I do.” Her voice is almost like the singing shadows of young lovers dancing; light and unseen, unheard. Something just behind his curtains captures her eyes and she hops off his desk. “I have ta go”

David tries to grab a hold of her wrist. But she’s gone, darting out the window and down the fire escape like her life depended on it. He watches her go, eyes following her as she skids and dodges through the busy streets. He pushes the window closed and sinks into bed, hands folded on his chest. 

A wooden boat captures his attention, sitting collecting dust on his shelf. It's something he should have given Les alongside the sword and the storybook but it's the first thing he ever carved. It means too much to be tossed into the box under his bed or into Les’ toy chest. He remembers the story his mother would read to him and Cora before bed. 

He lets the memory wrap around him like a warm hug. Behind his closed eyes he can see the men with golden fins dancing and shifting through warm waters. There are no shadows in that dream, he feels no desire to weep. He allows the dream to wrap around him tighter and lull him slowly into a well-deserved sleep. 

The next time Cora climbs through his bedroom window the sky is littered with stars. He falls onto the floor and he’s quick to gather her quivering frame into his arms. “David the most horrible thing happened-” it’s like she’s choking on her words. 

He rocks her trembling body in his arms as if she was nothing more than a child. It’s only when he looks away from her face pressed deeply into the fabric of his nightshirt and her hands gripping, white-knuckled at his shoulders does he spots the blood, rolling down her legs. It stands out like the first roses of summer but there’s nothing beautiful in her sobs and fearful, heavy breaths. 

“Oh, Cora, gelibter.” He presses a kiss to her hair, rubbing soft circles into the stained fabric of her skirt. It’s only when her light sobs soften to light whimpers does he release himself from her tight grip and go to wake his Sarah up. He shakes her softly. “Saz.” 

She rolls over, tucking the blanket tighter under her chin. He sighs, shaking her harder. “Sarah!” 

“What?!” she snaps, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. 

“Its Cora. She’s bleeding and crying. She says it hurts.” 

Sarah rubs her eyes again before following him into his room. Cora sits on his bed resting her face against her knees. She doesn’t react when Sarah’s candle illuminates the room, it’s only when the bedsprings squeak as Sarah sits does Cora look up, fear clear on her features. 

“S-Sarah!” She gasps relieved. “A-am I dyin’?” 

“No sweetheart, no. David fill the bath up for Cora please. I’ll go wake up mama.” 

David nods, helping Cora to stand as they walk silently to the bathroom. The floor is cold but sweat drips slowly down Cora’s cheeks, mixing with the tears that paint deep lines down her face. He heats water up over the fire in large pots before tossing them into the bath. She stands hopelessly quiet, shivering in her nightdress. “You can’t bathe with it on gelibter. Mama can wash it for you.” he holds his hand out to her. 

“I’ll close my eyes if it makes you feel better. Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” She takes his hand, squeezing his fingers before watching his eyes slip closed. Blood smears itself against her as she strips, sinking into the warmth of the water. She closes her eyes too, head resting against the tub. “Y-ya can look now.” 

He blinks his eyes open in the low light of the flickering candles. Carefully he dunks a washcloth into the water, letting it ring through his fingers before reaching out, rubbing it across her back. He starts at first, jumping. “It’s just me.” reassuringly, he tugs his hand away. He waits until she looks at him and smiles before continuing. 

Cora soaks in the feeling of the warm water against her small frame. His gentle, safe hands running carefully across her back, her arms. She lays her head in his lap, shifting to let him wash the blood off her thighs. In the silent moment, she allows the addicting panic to flood her system. It feels right when he touches her. There’s no stench of alcohol on David’s breath and there’s no silver magic. 

Just her and her blue-eyed angel. 

That night, Esther tells her about what’s happening, why it happens and how long it’s going to happen for. Cora nods, dwarfed by David’s pyjamas, lips pressed into a sad line. “Can I stay here tonight Mrs Jacobs?” Cora asks finally, sighing relieved when she nods. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch ma’am. So I don’t disturb David or Les or Sarah. I’m sorry ma’am.” 

“Don’t apologise Tokhler, my dear. Your nightdress is drying outside David's window.” 

That night, Cora deems that she likes the couch. She likes the feeling of Dave's clothes on her, they’re loose but the warmth hugs her frame as she buries herself under the mass of blankets. 

It had felt like forever since she had dreamed. David appears with softness in his tall frame. Slowly he stretches his hand out to her and she takes it, smiling as they wander. The grass is sharp and it tickles her feet when they walk. If she looks over her shoulder, they paint soft footsteps into the grass, hopping through light sunshine as they settle atop a hill. His fingers lace around hers as if grasping and fondling at pearls that lay just out of reach of his fingertips. In the silence Cora listens to the sound of men with golden fins dancing and twirling through the turquoise sea, watching the full outlines of the women stumbling naked and laughing against the sand. The summer wind teases her hair as it brushes through the light blonde strands. 

they sit for what feels like forever. Until a sound startles Cora awake. In the dim light, she follows the outline. “Hmm Les? What's wron’?” 

He stands, wide eyes frantic and breathing heavy, clutching his blanket close to his frame. “I-I had a nightmare. Bout something happening to pa...can I sleep with you?” 

She smiles and slowly opens her arms, only closing them when he crawls inside and clings to the collar of her nightshirt. He falls asleep almost instantly and Cora follows suit, her nose pressed into his hair as she keeps him safe. 

The next morning Les wakes up alone on the couch, he rubs the sleep from his eyes and wanders, checking his siblings' bedrooms for Cora. But all he's met with is a pile of pyjamas, stained slightly with blood. 

Cora stumbles into the cellar before the sunrises. She's quick to close the window silently, falling to lay on the floor. It makes her shoulder ache and the floor is deathly cold, the concrete sapping the heat from the rising sun before it hits her skin. She tries not to wince as she clothes her eyes.

She misses the softness of the couch and the warmth of the Jacobs fire. The pyjamas that hide the blood and softens the cramping in her stomach. Footsteps startle the thoughts to the back of her head. 

The door opens, bathing her in a harsh light. “Morning child.” 

“Good morning mother. May I come out?” 

“Yeah, sure whatever. Go bathe your brother.” 

Cora makes her way slowly up the steps, head bowed as she wanders up into her brother's room. Oskar lays sleeping in the crib, his chubby hands twitching across the fabric of his blanket. Carefully she scoops him up, smiling as he sniffles, pressing his face deep into the crook of her neck, his nose pressed against the thick scar and Cora swallows a wince. 

“Mornin’ Oskar,” she whispers, tossing his four-year-old body into the air, chuckling when he squeals. “Let's go run ya a bath yeah?” 

“Bath! Bath!” He chants, kicking his legs wildly. 

The water is cold from the night before, Cora can tell her father has been in the bathroom, the smell of brandy and vomit is still soaking into the floor but she pushes through the overpowering smell and slowly settles her brother into the freezing water. 

He whines at first before there's a banging at the door.“Shut that kid up!” 

“Yes, father! I’m sorry father.” She presses a finger against her lips, patting Oskar’s soft brown hair when he nods, copying. 

She washes him in silence, staring down at the floor as cramps tighten and wash through her system. It makes her feel sick and she prays that there's no blood on the back of her nightdress, that the ruffles stay as cheerful and pink as her father's lustful cheeks. 

Oskar toddles off and Cora watches him leave, silently wishing that she could steal a chunk of bread off her mother's plate when her back is turned. But she hovers on the stairs, waiting for the next orders. 

Mary turns, scanning Cora’s pale frame. “Did your father order you to get dressed?” 

Cora shakes her head. “No mother.” 

“Where is your nightdress” 

“In my basket mother, to take down to the lake with the rest of the laundry-” 

“It's not dirty child.” The end of her mother's cigarette shines in the early morning sun like a firefly, coras eyes flick to it, watching the ash fall onto the floor, burning stray holes into the thinly carpeted floor of the hallway. 

“Why is your nightgown in the dirty laundry child?” She can feel her fathers presence behind her, the same lingering eyes dancing across her hidden adult frame. At fifteen, there's nothing else to grow, her proportions stand, round and for her fathers taking, whenever he pleases. 

Her chest feels tight like her breath is sticking to the inside of her lungs, dragging them down deep into her empty stomach. She can feel the acid dissolving her chest and she longs to scream but nothing comes out. 

“Well!” Her father snaps, looming over her from the step above her. 

Tears threaten to fill her eyes, but she swallows them down. “I started to bleed.” 

Her father glances over her head to her mother. “She's been sleeping with those Christ-killers! I can see it in her eyes! She’s fucked that boy! sinner! ” 

“No father! I promise I haven't! No!” She feels her breath leave her body in a swift gasp when her father shoves past her. 

“I’ll deal with you when I get home. Mary, my dear, I'm off to work now.” 

Cora watches, trembling as her father leaves. William follows shortly behind, taking Oskar by the hand. She follows her brothers with her eyes as they walk towards the school and her feet itch to run after them, to run until she's at the school gates. Until she's face-to-face with someone- anyone who can help her. 

But they stay stuck to the bottom step. Watching as they leave the windows view. She feels her mother stub out the cigarette against her hand and she swallows the scream. 

“Bow your head and pray.” Mary hisses, snatching the child's arm. Her feet kick and scratch against the floor as Cora tries to fight back against the strong grip of her mother's fat hands. She's tossed into a chair, her mother standing over her, the Bible in hand. 

“And God made Eve from Adam's rib. And Eve was weak and loosed the raven on the world. And the raven was called sin.” Mary peaks up over the Bibe, sharp nails picking at the gold lettering in the spine. “And God visited even with a curse, the curse of blood.” 

“Mother it's not my fault!” Cora begged, yelping when her mother dug, soot-covered nails into the scar on her chin. 

“And God made Eve from Adam's rib. And Eve was weak” 

“Mother how could I know?” 

“And Eve was weak” Mary's nails dug further into her chin, making her whimper. 

“Why didn't you tell me?!” Anger bubbles deep in the darkest corners of her mind. She shoves her mother's hand off her, taking in sharp breaths. She prepares for the strike, but she's met with a dull thud to the back of her head. She can feel the spine of the heavy leather book in the back of her neck. 

“And God made Eve bear the curse. The curse of blood.” 

“It's not a curse- Mrs Jacobs says it's something that all girls go through!” Cora slams her hands on the table. “You should have told me!” 

Her mother strikes her again and Cora feels the paper slice at her face, it decorates her cheeks with small cuts. They sting like hellfire. “You're a woman now.” The safety of the wooden dining chair is stripped from her and suddenly she's on her knees, shaking hands pressed against each other. 

Cora doesn't think of the men on distant ships, or the women swimming with them. Or even how she’ll be loved in heaven. She's a sinner and she listens to her mother preach. “God has seen you sinning, playing about and letting that boy fondle you. Your body is guilty! Guilty!” There's a flurry of dark skin and Cora’s shoved forwards in front of the fire, she can feel the heat on her legs as she kneels, eyes focused blearily on the heavy wooden cross. “Pray for damnation, or he will burn you.” Mary pushes her face forwards, close enough that the blonde's hair brushes dangerously close to the dancing flames. “He will burn you!” 

Cora can feel the floor falling from under her; the devil's greedy hands reaching up through the floorboards. The fires of hell burn and scald her pale skin and she lets out a scream, squirming and trying to fight back. She doesn’t want to sin. What did she do? She doesn't understand. 

“I can see you inside. Full of sin, full of pride!” 

Sweat and tears mix on Cora’s face painting with the red drops of blood, across her chin and down her neck. Pain makes her head swim. The words make her drown. Cora’s not sure if she screams as her mother drags her away from the fire. “Heaven hates a sinner child!” 

“I'm not a sinner! Mother I promise- please! Don’t hurt me!” 

The steps to the cellar are painted in a thin, almost pink shimmer as her mother tosses her down them, Cora counts the steps and how they slice at the exposed flesh of her legs and arms. It makes her yelp. “You will sit there and pray until your soul is saved! You sinner! Stand up!” 

Her body is almost like a rag-doll as her mother drags her up. Tossing a scattering of hard beads on the floor. “Kneel” Her small frame is tossed down and she winces. 

Cora’s is not sure what she's kneeling on or for how long. She feels the mess dry on her face and her eyes close, resting against her hands, pressed together in prayer. The door groans when it opens, and her swollen eyes look up to her mother, coming down the stairs. 

“Your father is home.” Her voice is still cold and part of Cora longs for the hellfires to return. With a nod, she pushes her off her mother's sewing beads and makes her way unsteadily up the steps. 

The sun had started to set, as if trying to turn its back on the small house, not wanting to be a witness to the massacre that awaits her in the master bedroom. 

Her pulse explodes starting and stopping in angry fits and starts. The bare stairs creak under her feet, betraying her stumbling, heavy feet. William used to tell her about people jumping into the Hudson, their pockets filled with stones so they sunk; in the back of her mind, she felt stones wrapped around her ankles like pearls, trying to drag her down through the faded wooden steps, through the floorboards and into hell itself. 

“Father?” She asked, knocking on the ajar bedroom door. When he mumbled, she pushed the door open, praying that her sweaty palms wouldn't leave a print against the wood. He’s sitting on the bed, ringing a thin strap of leather between his fingers. “Mother said you wanted to see me.” 

He sighs and walks over to her, taking her round face in his hand. She takes in a sharp intake of breath when his thumb brushes over the dry blood on her cheeks. “Yes child, you really are beautiful, y’know that right?” 

“Yes father” 

He stands again, dropping her face and returning to the bed. She follows, perching next to him. Day clothes were never interesting to him, too many layers that collect the silver magic, too much evidence is left behind from his secret crimes. “I want you to tell me what happened child.” 

“I started to bleed father-” She pulled her legs closer, so the heels of her simple shoes were pressing against the bedside. When her father turns to stare at her, the leather strip whips against the air and Cora swallows a wince. 

“You’re lying aren't you? I can see it on your face” He stabs an accusatory finger into her cheek as if trying to force his nail into the cuts, deep enough so he can feel the hinge of her jaw. 

“No father.” It's not the first time her father has struck her, but the feeling of leather across her lower back makes her scream. “F-father-” She counts the beatings. 

One

Two

Three.

Three heavy beats that slash across her back, the welts growing under her shirt. Three bright red marks that bite her skin like angry dogs. Three screams that still echo in the silence. 

“I’m not surprised. My own daughter-. I send her to school and what does she do?! Not learn, oh no-!” Sarcasm drips like the liquor on his breath. “She just had to become friends with some...some dirty Jews did anything I teach you mean anything child?!” 

She bows her head in shame, eyes finding a stain on the carpet. “I'm sorry father.” she yelps when he strikes her back again, she snaps up straight so fast it makes her head spin. 

“My own daughter, bleeding because she's a sinner. I guess your mother taught you the verse.” 

“Yes, father.” Cora can feel her mind racing, thoughts firing and smacking against every part of her brain unable to collect into sentences. 

Her silence fuels his anger, the leather strap meets her neck. Cora had learned long ago to never cry when they could see but tears pricked the sides of her eyes. She feels the leather wrap around her shoulder and she can feel the blood seeping through her underclothes. 

“A-and God created Eve from Adam's rib...and E-Eve was weak. God made Eve bear the c-curse of blood. And God….and Eve loosed the raven upon the world…..the raven came to pl-pla-plague the world…...i-its name was sin ....” 

She feels her father move closer, the bedsprings squeak as if trying to protest his movements. “What do we do now huh?.” With a sigh, he drops his weapon, rubbing away the tears, his rough fingers feeling like sandpaper. When she shrugs, his grip tightens. “Tell me, child.” 

Silence. 

“How can your mother show her face in the knitting club?” 

More silence. 

“What do I tell them in the factory tomorrow?” 

Cora felt like her lips were sewn together. Her chest hurts and her vision keeps blurring. 

“How do you expect us to show our faces in church? What do I say when you go to confession?” 

Her father huffs, angry with her shaking. “My child. A filthy sinner!” 

He strikes her again, across the face and Cora’s not sure if it's fear or the longing for David to save her but she scrambles to her feet and runs, not caring about the chill on the ground or the lumbering footsteps of her father down the stairs. 

Her ears ring at the cold and she can barely make out her father's bitter voice against the heaving wind. 

“Outside huh? I like that, we can keep your brothers pure! You can stay outside, all night. Like the bitch you are!”


End file.
